Spring Comes Quiet
by Katerinarose24
Summary: Spring comes quiet to Yorkshire, and it does not come alone. Mary & Dickon Fluff


**_Spring Comes Quiet _**

Spring comes awful quiet some places. Yorkshire is like that. Tis as gray a day o' winter as you're like to see, and then, all of a moment, the moors is a carpet o' purple and gold.

Change can come quiet too, At the big hosue on the Missel moor, Garlands of spring flowers hang off of railings, and gargoyles and dragons wear necklaces of pink and purple blossoms.

Archibald Craven followed a trail of loose petals up the stairs to find his niece humming to herself as she arranged baskets of flowers on the landing.

"Shant those be a bit of a trial to the servants, Mary?"

"What?" asked the girl, raising large, confused eyes to his. It was clear that she had not heard him come up the stairs.

"The maids shall be forever tripping over those if you leave them as they are," He smiled, as he said this, softening the criticism.

Mary laughed. "Of course, And Mrs. Medlock would never forgive me if I made a mess."

"Then you may have to run for it Mary, There is a trail of petals all the way up the hall."

Mary quaked in mock fear, In truth, Mrs, Medlock, the veritable dragon of household order, had not escaped the changes affecting the rest of the household. As the years passed, something about her had softened, and she had become fond of Mary, though she would be the last to admit it.

"Do you think if I had some strong ribbon, I could hang some baskets from the candle holders?" She pointed to the elegant siler curves.

"I suppose. Do as you like, my child. The house looks lovely."

* * *

The afternoon found Mary in the garden, gathering more flowers. The afternoon was not alone in its discovery, for after a few minutes, a tall lad, cotton workshirt open at the collar, jogged into the garden. He stopped at the door though, and for some reason his breath caught.

He stopped, and gazing into the haven of flowers, and more so at the fair one who moved among them. Adorned by a crown of pink blossoms, pink dress rustling with every movement, sunlight sparkled on dark hair, giving Mary. for a moment at least, that otherworldly beauty that should have been her birthright.

A moment later, the magical halo was gone, but a sweet blush shone on her cheeks, for she had noticed Dickon leaning against a wall, staring at her.

An answering flush graced Dickon's tanned countenance. He had been caught staring, and was not really sure yet what that meant. He and Mary were friends, and had been since her very first weeks at the manor.

Perhaps Dickon had been too much a part of every season as it came to see the greater change it left behind. Now he noted it, and what he saw surprised him.

Mary was not a sickly, pale child anymore. Mary was not a child at all. Somehow, somewhere over the past years, Mary had grown. She was a lady now, and indisputably. She was not a beauty, no, at least not by any London standard. Still, those who met her now hardly noticed this, for her movements spoke of a grace the child Mary had never possesed, and every expression betrayed a bright, laughing soul. The playmate of Dickon's childhood had been replaced by a godess of the spring, and Dickon wondered how he could have missed the transformation.

Had Dickon been able to read the thoughts that flashed behind that elfin countenance. he would have learned that he was not the only one caught by surprise. This spring, Mary had come to the disconcerting realization that Dickon was tall. Not only was he tall, but he had broad shoulders that seemed to belie the gentlest spirit she had ever known. And now, he was looking at her, a new expression in the large eyes, eyes that Mary had always thought were pieces of the Yorkshire sky.

Catching himself, Dickon gave Mary a small apologetic smile. The smile she bestowed on him in return made Dickon think spring had come again. Wondering what ever had posessed him this morning, Dickon asked lighlty "Would tha need some help cuttin' flowers, Miss Mary?"

"If you have time," replied Mary warmly. "Oh, Dickon, isn't this the most wonderful day? I think the whole world must be glad to be alive today!"

"I think it must." Dickon agreed, passing Mary a handful of flowers, As their fingers touched, Mary dropped her eyes. When she raised them, she found his eyes filled with that same queer look from earlier. Something fluttery erupted in her stomach, and she almost dropped her flowers. Quickly setting them in her basket, she hurried past Dickon. "I... I think I have to go... but thank you..."

Almost to the gate, she turned. "Will you be here later, Dickon?"

"Of course." He replied, smiling, that strangeness not wholly gone from his eyes. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."


End file.
